


Almost Everything

by sevenfists



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-24
Updated: 2007-01-24
Packaged: 2018-10-27 12:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: Dean hates Wednesdays, ordinarily, but when Wednesday is his birthday, he doesn't mind so much. Sam actually lets him sleep in for once, and it's 10:30 by the time he wakes up, drowsy and warm in his motel bed, winter sunlight streaming through the open curtains. He scratches his balls idly, stretches, feels his spine crack.





	Almost Everything

Dean hates Wednesdays, ordinarily, but when Wednesday is his birthday, he doesn't mind so much. Sam actually lets him sleep in for once, and it's 10:30 by the time he wakes up, drowsy and warm in his motel bed, winter sunlight streaming through the open curtains. He scratches his balls idly, stretches, feels his spine crack.

The coffee pot's going. He gets up and pours himself a cup, two sugars and a pack of creamer, because Sam isn't around to witness. He doesn't know where the fuck Sam is—probably off moping somewhere; he'll show up soon enough.

He's in the shower when he hears the door open and shut again. "Sam?" he hollers.

"What," Sam yells back.

Dean grins to himself. "Where the fuck is my birthday present?"

The bathroom door opens, slams against the wall. "You don't get any presents," Sam says. "You've been too bad." Through the thin shower curtain, Dean can see him sit down on the closed lid of the toilet, his big hands resting on his knees.

"Not even a birthday kiss? I tried to be good, baby," Dean says. He froths the motel shampoo between his hands and rubs it into his hair. The water's hot enough to steam and redden his skin. He thinks about jerking off. "I might jerk off," he announces.

"That's great, Dean," Sam says.

"You wanna give me a hand?" Dean asks. "It's my birthday."

Sam laughs. "I know it's your birthday, you fuckhead. I'm not gonna get in there with you, I already showered."

"You suck," Dean says, and starts singing "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" at the top of his lungs.

"Jesus Christ," Sam says, and leaves the bathroom.

"Dean 1, Sammy 0," Dean tells the showerhead, and wraps his hand around his cock.

When he gets out of the shower, Sam's scowling at the laptop, but he closes the lid as soon as he sees Dean. "We're going out for lunch," he says.

"Uh, okay," Dean says. All of his boxers fail the sniff-test. He pulls on a pair of Sam's. "No sushi."

"That was _one time_ ," Sam says.

"One time too many," Dean mutters. "Seriously, Sammy, raw fish?"

"It's very healthy—"

"All I'm sayin' is, Japan gets a lot of points for the whole Godzilla thing, but I am not eating shit with tentacles." Dean sits down on the bed to put on his socks and boots.

"Actually, Dean—"

"Oh, shut it," Dean says, and barely dodges the empty styrofoam cup Sam throws at his head.

" _Actually_ ," Sam says, "I was thinking a steakhouse."

"I want ribs," Dean says. "A whole fuckin' rack. Slaughtered right at the table."

"Maybe if you ask real nice," Sam says, grinning.

The ribs are the best thing Dean's eaten in about three months. He eats until his belly's swollen and aching, and then he puts his head down on the table and moans. "Oh god, I'm gonna die."

"You aren't gonna die," Sam says. "We'll box them up and taken them with us."

"They won't keep," Dean says, and moans again. "You gotta eat them, Sammy. Take one for the team."

"No thanks, I like my arteries relatively unblocked," Sam says.

"Real men eat ribs," Dean says.

"Guess I'm not a real man," Sam says, and asks for the check.

Dean takes a lie-down after lunch. He needs to recuperate after vanquishing his enemy. Rebalance his center.

"Are you taking a nap?" Sam asks.

"I don't nap," Dean says.

Sam chuckles softly, and Dean hears the door close. It's so nice and warm in the room, and maybe he'll just shut his eyes for a few seconds, just to fully visualize all the ways he's going to make Sam suffer for implying that Dean Winchester takes _naps_.

He wakes up when he hears Sam toss his keys onto the table. "Hrgzwhazzat," Dean says, sitting bolt upright on the bed. "I wasn't sleeping."

Sam, wisely, keeps his mouth shut. "I got some movies," he says. "And some Old Crow." He's carrying a plastic bag, and he pulls a bottle out of it and sets it on the table.

"I love Old Crow," Dean says.

"Yeah, I know," Sam says, his mouth quirking up at one corner.

"Oh," Dean says. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, scrubs one hand over his face. "So what's the game plan?"

"Well," Sam says. He upends his bag over the bed, and three VHS tapes tumble out. Dean picks one up and looks at it.

"A New Hope," he says. "Dude, are you seriously gonna watch the original trilogy with me?" Sam hates Star Wars with a burning passion—probably from years of playing Chewbacca to Dean's Han Solo.

"It's your birthday," Sam says, and Dean hauls him down onto the bed and kisses Sam's smiling mouth.

Sam shoves him away. "You wanna watch or what?" he asks.

"Yeah," Dean says. "Shots every time someone mentions the Force."

"And no saying Han's lines along with him," Sam says. "I mean it, Dean. You'll never get laid again."

"Promises, promises," Dean says, but he's actually kind of worried. Sam's a stubborn little bitch when he puts his mind to it.

By the time they hit the Cloud City shenanigans in "The Empire Strikes Back," Dean's pretty wasted. "Where's Yoda," he says. "Yoda can come save them all. With his pointy fuckin' ears."

"How's he supposed to get to Cloud City?" Sam asks, curling further into Dean, his face pressed against Dean's hip.

"I dunno, he can use his fuckin' mind powers or whatever," Dean says. He snorts with laughter. "Too bad Yoda can't teach you how to use the Force, huh?"

"That isn't funny," Sam says, and slaps Dean's thigh.

"I mentioned the Force! Shots!" Dean says, grabbing for the bottle. They've given up on glasses and are just drinking straight from the bottle at this point. He takes a swig and passes it over to Sam.

"No more," Sam moans. "Dean, I can't."

"Yeah, c'mon, Sammy, s'my _birthday_ ," Dean says, using his free hand to wrap Sam's fingers around the bottle. "Just one swallow. C'mon."

Sam swallows obediently, his throat working, and then makes a face. "That shit's nasty," he says.

"You just like those _girly_ drinks," Dean says. He sticks the bottle back on the bedside table and leans back against the headboard. Han's getting lowered into the carbonite freezer thingie.

"I love you!" Leia cries.

"Oh Han!" Sam says, voice pitched high and mocking. "Your manly arms!"

Dean snorts and slides his hand into Sam's hair, running his fingers through it. "I thought you hated these movies."

"I _do_ ," Sam says. "It's not my fault you made me watch them fifty bazillion times."

Then there's the unending battle in the depths of the city, and Luke whines a whole lot and generally acts like a little bitch, and then it's time for Dean's favorite part of the whole trilogy: Leia in a metal bikini.

Leia was the first girl Dean ever thought was hot. He still remembers the day he realized that hey, she wasn't wearing a bra in that first scene in "A New Hope," and her tits were all.... _there_ and swaying when she walked, and he wanted to touch them. A whole bunch. And he has never, ever in his entire life managed to get through the first section of "Return of the Jedi" without jerking off.

"Oh _shit_ ," he breathes, watching that slow pan up Leia's body, Jabba yanking on her chain.

"We're at that part already?" Sam mumbles.

"Looks like," Dean says. He shifts his ass on the bed, feeling his cock swell in his jeans. Christ, Leia's _tits_ and her _belly_ , and he can't even count how many times he's thought about lifting that stupid purple apron and finding out what's underneath.

"Huh," Sam says. He palms Dean's cock, his big hand warm on rough denim. "Can't believe you still think this is hot, Dean. How many times've you watched it?" He's slurring his words together, sounding all drunk and sleepy, but his hand isn't sleepy at all, his fingers pulling at the button of Dean's pants.

"I can't help it," Dean says. He bats Sam's hand out of the way and unzips his fly, pulling his cock out of his boxers—Sam's boxers, actually, and that shouldn't make his belly twist like it does.

On the screen, Leia's gasping, being tugged close against Jabba's blubber.

"Fuck," Dean says, rubbing at his balls. He's so—he's drunk enough to be really fucking horny, and he feels all rubbery and warm and relaxed, and Sam's pushing himself up on one elbow, leaning over Dean's lap, and this is about to be really goddamn awesome.

"I'm gonna suck you off," Sam says. "Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Dean says, and Sam's mouth touches down, suckling hot at Dean's cockhead, and Dean almost doesn't recognize the noise that comes out of his own throat.

"Fuck," he says. "Fuck."

Sam pulls back, licking slowly, and Dean takes himself in hand and rubs the leaking head against Sam's mouth, watching Sam's eyes flicker up, dark and amused.

"Ohhh, yeah," Dean says. "C'mon, Sammy, just—" He pushes his cock into Sam's mouth, rubbing against Sam's tongue, and Sam tilts his head slightly and takes Dean down his throat, swallowing like a pro. They've done this hundreds of times, but it never stops feeling fucking amazing, and Dean's head tips back, his eyes falling shut.

"Uhhh," he grunts. " _Sammy_."

Sam lifts off, mouth popping. "Think about Leia," he says. "You wanna take off her bikini top, right? Hold her tits in your palms. They're the perfect size, and she's got these big pink nipples that tighten up when you lick them."

It's not fair, and Dean's breath hisses through his teeth, his thighs quaking. He lifts his hips, hoping for Sam's mouth again, and feels his cock bump against Sam's chin. "You're—"

"Just think about it," Sam says, and goes back down, sinking his throat all the way onto Dean's cock, and Dean grabs at Sam's hair and _thrusts_ , not meaning to but not able to stop himself. Sam makes a low noise and starts bobbing his head, his hand twisting at the base of Dean's cock, his mouth sloppy and wet and so, so good.

Dean thinks about it: Leia all spread out for him, pink-cheeked and panting, and he carefully pushes aside the purple cloth, and there's _nothing_ underneath, just her pink cunt, all slick-wet and shiny for him, and the smell of her thick on the air.

"Oh shit," he gasps, humping up into Sam's mouth—and then he's thinking about Sam, just Sam, spread out and begging for it, his ass flushed where Dean smacked it, tugging desperately at his own cock—and Sam curls his tongue around the head of Dean's cock, a sweet flickering glide, and Dean's so close, his orgasm building like a tidal wave—

"Gonna come," he says. "Sam. _God_."

Sam hums something, tuneless and wordless both, and the vibrations have Dean clutching at Sam's head, digging his heels into the mattress, almost there, _almost_ , Sam's hot mouth drawing it out of him, making Dean feel like his brain's about to blow through the top of his skull.

And then Sam rubs gently behind Dean's balls, pressing his knuckles _right there_ , and Dean's whole body seizes up and shakes helplessly, his nerve endings all firing at once, and then he melts against the sheets, coming down.

Sam swallows and pulls off. He sits up, grinning at Dean in the near-dark. "You were supposed to yell Leia's name at the end, there," he says.

"Oh, fuck you," Dean says. He gives Sam the bottle of Old Crow. "Drink that shit and then c'mere and kiss me."

Sam drinks, wipes his mouth, sets the bottle on the bedside table. It wobbles a little before settling. "So, best birthday ever?" he asks.

"Hard to beat those triplets in Denver," Dean says, smirking.

"You're a smug asshole," Sam says, and he crawls up the bed and kisses Dean, slick and warm, their tongues sliding together, and Dean's gotta admit, things don't get much better than this.  



End file.
